Culture Shock: A Diplomatic Solution [OurLadyMuffin and Inara]

[Inara]

Princess Inara sat in her bedchamber, preparing for the warlord’s arrival. At a desk that overlooked a large window, she combed her hair, and tied it in a simple elegant bun. She wore a moderately formal traditional gown in honor of the occasion. Apparently, a great warlord had sent a messenger forward to announce his arrival. There were rumors as to what his wishes might be, but Inara did not particularly approve of the direction they led. Surely, they could not be true? A great feast was being hastily prepared downstairs, to welcome such an important guest, and a young nysfian, or a page as he might be called, had sent word that he was within a few cvisids, a unit slightly smaller than a kilometer, of the palace. A few minutes later, after Riviana had finished her hair, another servant strode through the door.*

“Your majesty, your father has summoned you to the banquet, milady. He asks that you sit at his left hand, opposite your mother.” The servant requested, bowing as he relayed the message

”Thank you, Ishtan, I am coming, the young princess replied, strolling towards the door, smiling. Quickly bowing in return, she smirked and walked purposefully to the great hall.

Ignoring the herald as he announced her arrival with her full title, Princess Inara Serrana Minuet Valos Menir, heir to the throne of the Arathian Empire... the young woman impatiently waited for him to finish, her hand twitching as she half-desired to mock the process with a few gestures. She refrained for the sake of duty and dignity among the nobles, always playing the part. Even though it had always been difficult, Inara walked slowly, each step graceful and with purpose, until she reached her seat at her father’s left.

[Our Lady Muffin]

Perhaps unlike the princess, the Lord Ranel was dressed a lot less elegantly. Rather, he was a rugged man; dressed in dark breeches, worn leather boots and a faded navy shirt. He wore a dark cloak around his broad shoulders and a leather belt, heavy with his gear and blade, hung from his waist. Ranel had a pair of steely grey eyes and dark hair that was sleek, chopped short and pulled back into a pony tail with a few stray strands framing his chiseled face. There was a hard look to him; a sort of look that only a man who had seen much in his lifetime would have. He had sent word to the royals of the Arathian Empire days before requesting an audience. It had been a pretty blind stab in the dark, if he did say so himself, but a necessary step.

Anyway, the messenger had been sent days ago and now, Ranel and a few other men were riding to the enclosed kingdom. Ranel hadn’t brought a very big entourage with him; just a few of his most trusted men upon their best horses. They were nomadic people and didn’t really care much for grand entrances - save, of course, for when they were running into war.

When they rode into the kingdom, they received a fair welcome. Their horses were taken to the stables to rest and they were led into a banquet hall. Before entering, Ranel turned to look at the men on either side of him before nodding for the herald to go. The man pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped inside, bowing to address the royal family before declaring their arrival with a loud, clear voice:

“Introducing Lord Ranel, Son of Ranan, leader of the Iere Clan and his commanders, Dradar, son of Dell and Sifen, Son of Shyr.”

[Inara]

It was the custom to stand when a member of the royal family entered, and this had of course been done for Princess Inara. When a dignitary came to visit however, the nobility had no way to know his or her rank. Thus, it was customary for the royal family themselves to lead the greeting. King Walter and his wife, Queen Olivia, stood with their daughter and bowed in unison as the visiting guests were shown to their seats by one of the head servants. As was the custom, the other dignitaries followed suit.

The Lord and his commanders were placed right next to the royal family as the guests of honor. The other members of his party were seated farther along the table with the lower nobility. Inara found the whole procedure rather silly, but that was tradition. And as future queen, it was her duty to uphold the customs of her people. Lord Ranel was placed right beside her. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He appeared rather old, almost her father's age. It was polite to personally and formally greet him.

“I, Princess Inara, on behalf of the House of Menir, welcome you to Arath, the capital of our Empire,” she said, reaching out to shake his hand.